When one of the prostitutes passed away, the girls moped
disconsolately around the house.
"Good old Gloria," lamented one. "She could handle twenty men
a night, drink a fifth of whiskey and still have the strength
to roll five drunks."
Hearing this, one of the others burst into tears.
"Why is it," she sobbed, "that a girl has to die before
anyone says anything nice about her?"
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